Hogswatch Grit
by Twist
Summary: In which Sam Jr. saves the dusty town of Ain't More Pork from terrible bandits, and in the process manages to save Hogswatch too. What else can I say? It's a Discworld Western.


The story of this fanfic . . .

Day 1: "Hmm, I should write a Hogswatch fic. Damn, what about though?"

Day 2: "Nah, I did _A Christmas Story_ once already . . ."

Day 3: "_Elf_ is just too much like Hogfather. Sort of. Uh. Well, no, it's not, but screw that, I don't want to do _Elf_."

Day 4: "Maybe I should rent some Christmas movies."

Day 5: "Eh, I'll just browse fanfic and think about it." _Clicks on Doctor Who, decides to peruse various sections_. "What's this?" _Clicks on genre_. "Western? They have a _western_ genre? Oh, _tell me_ they have this over in Discworld."

**CHALLENGE ACCEPTED**.

Sooooo. Yeah. Thanks, Gogol, for the encouragement. And thank you to the Coen Brothers for remaking _True Grit_, which was also great. Have fun playing spot the references! We have, obvs, _True Grit_, _A Christmas Story_, a little _Blazing Saddles_, a quick reference to a song by the Lonely Island and a cameo by a famous racehorse, see if you can pick which one it is. Just kidding, have fun, kick back, enjoy.

Disclaimer: Did you literally not see the list of references above? _Nothing_ in here is mine.

-()-

Young Sam leaned forward until his nose pressed up against the glass of the window, his breath fogging up the pane as his mouth curled up into an unabashed, totally delighted smile. "It's _snowing_," he breathed, whirling around delightedly to face his father. Sam Vimes Sr. smiled back at his son from behind the paper. "Dad, it's snowing, it's snowing for real! Look!" He jumped up and ran over to his father, jumping up and down, straw-blond hair flopping around wildly. "Can I go out in it, can I? Can I?"

"It's nine o'clock at night on Hogwatch Eve, Sam."

"So?"

"You're in your pajamas."

"_So_?" He pouted. "Don't see why I can't go out. You and Carrot and Uncle . . . Sir can go out whenever you want."

"Uncle who? Oh." Behind the paper, Vimes Sr. smirked. He'd made a mention to his son that in public anyway it would be best to call his godfather 'sir,' which had led to a new nickname that was both more respectful and appropriate for public settings and also hilarious. "Sam, you're not going out in the snow tonight. That's final."

"But _dad_."

"None of that now, young man." Sam scowled. "And don't try to go and ask your mother, she'll say the same thing." The paper rustled. "Actually, now it occurs to me, isn't it about time you went to bed?"

Sam's horror-stricken expression was enough to make his father twitch the paper back into place, if only to hide his smile. "_No_, dad, not yet! I want to stay up for the Hogfather!"

"Now, Sam, you can't stay up to see him, you know that."

"Why not?" He stuck out his chin and crossed his arms. "I'm eight – I'm old enough to see him."

"No, you're not, Sam, and if you're not in bed he isn't going to come." He folded up the paper and looked pensive. "Actually, it's already nine – I hope he hasn't _missed_ us. Your bedtime is usually eight, after all, he might not have been expecting you to be up that late . . ."

"He wouldn't miss us! Would he?"

"I don't know, it's kind of late . . ." He set the paper on the side table and stood up, putting a hand on his son's shoulder. "Tell you what, he's probably not done with the city yet, so I'll take you up to bed and when you're asleep I'll have some officers let him know you're in bed so he can come back, alright? But we don't have a lot of time."

Sam wriggled out of his father's grip and scurried for the stairs, pounding across the hardwood and up the runner. His mother, coming in from the dragon houses, watched him go as she pulled her gloves off. "Goodnight, mum!" She shot her husband an amused look.

"I'll be up to check on you in a minute, Sam," he called after the boy, before nodding to his wife with a wink. "We'll hope the Hogfather hasn't left the city yet."

Sybil shook her head and smiled, hanging her thick leather apron on the banister. "Looks like we're in for a big storm," she said quietly. "Bedded all the dragons down thick, just in case."

"Good idea."

"You do know everyone's coming tomorrow for the party in the morning, right?" She nudged him. "_Right_, Sam?"

He scowled. "Don't see why von Lipwig has to come. Vetinari's not bad enough, eh? Sneaking into the kitchen, stealing all the turkey and crunchy stuffing . . ."

"_Sam_." She gave him a peck on the cheek. "Surely you can grin and bear it for a few hours."

"_Bear_ it, maybe, _grinning_ I'm not too sure about. Especially if Vetinari eats all the turkey skin again."

She swatted him on the shoulder. "It's bad for you anyway. Go check on your son. He ought to be asleep by now; it's past his bedtime."

"Already? He's awfully excited."

"He'll be out like a light." She waved her husband on, disappearing into the kitchen. "I'll put some tea on and meet you in the den; we have all those toys to put together."

Sure enough, when Vimes Sr. cracked the door into his son's room, the boy was curled up under the duvet, sound asleep. He smiled for a minute, and then turned and snapped the door shut, wondering briefly what his son would possibly dream about on Hogswatch Eve* before turning his thoughts to his own evening, which, as per unwritten Rule of Parenting, would be sure to contain an evening filled with tiny screws, lost pieces and poorly-translated instructions along the lines of 'Insert Piece A into Slot Üø'.

Behind the bedroom door, Young Sam was totally oblivious to this, and smiled gently as he dreamed.

-()-

*Because who really dreams of sugar plums, really? As a matter of fact, what is a sugar plum? Is it an actual fruit? I don't know, much better to dream of cookies, in my opinion.

-()-

Tumbleweed blew across the desert in front of him, and his pony spooked, bracing its front legs and ducking down onto its haunches, preparing to bolt. "Easy!" Sam patted her neck, weaving his fingers through her mane. "Easy, girl." Up ahead, a town shimmered in the heat. "There it is, Jake. Ain't More Pork." He spat.

Next to him, on his trusty paint pony, Jake von Lipwig nodded and likewise spat, adjusting his hat so the brim shaded his eyes. "Sure is a little speck of a place out here, ain't it?"

"Sure is," Sam agreed, spurring his pony forward. "They say it's the most corrupt city in the whole Wild Widdershins."

"Well it'll be up to us to fix all that, then huh? General Carrot's orders, like. Make the Widdershins a place of law, like he said."

"Yup. It'll be dangerous."

"S'my middle name." Sam smirked and wriggled in his saddle a little, spurring his mare up to a trot. "They say it's ridden with bandits an' unlicensed thieves an' the sheriff needs help."

"Well they wrote to the right team."

"Yup." The two trotted down the town's street, curious townsfolk watching as they slowed their horses. Whispers echoed from the porches of the buildings. '_The Black Bandits_'. Sam smiled. Word sure did travel out in the Widdershins. Outside the tavern, he and Jake swung down into the dust, spurs clanking as they made their ponies fast to the hitching posts and headed up the stairs into the tavern. The pushed aside the doors and stood, silhouetted against the bright light of day, taking in the tavern's patrons, most of whom were clustered around tables, playing cards.

"Hey, them's those Black Bandits," said a dark-skinned woman near the door, dressed in an enormous red and black dress, adorned with an almost criminal amount of ruffles and a large bustle. Her black hair was in thick curls and fell past her shoulders bouncing and swinging as she moved. "Come on in, boys, have a seat at the bar." Around the playing tables, the gamblers went back to their business, holding and folding, walking away from the table on occasion and trying to join another table. They followed her to the bar and climbed up onto the stools. "Name's Grace, boys, Grace Speaker. Anything I can get you?"

"Two cold buttermilks, please, miss," Sam said, touching the brim of his hat. "Are you the proprietor of this establishment?"

"No, no I'm just keeping the bar until the owner gets back." She placed the two drinks on the scarred wood, multi-colored straws curling up towards the boys. "So what brings you two into town, hm? Word's been around of all the work you boys have done across the West, bringing law to the lawless, and the like."

"Yes'm. Same story here, ma'am," Jake said, sipping his drink through the twisty straw. He lowered his voice. "We heard this town's corrupt, ma'am, and we've come to offer the sheriff a hand."

"Well you boys have your work cut out for you." She pulled a rag from beneath the bar and swiped it across the surface. "Old Sam's done what he can with the place, and the usual characters do a pretty good job of keeping things in line, but something's up, boys." She leaned in. "I hear tell there's a fierce outlaw 'round these parts, been terrorizing all the local towns, got it in his mind that he's gonna strike Ain't More Pork before Hogswatch." Her eyes widened in fear. "They say he wants to steal all the presents, and _stop the Hogfather_." Jake gasped, but Sam merely set his mouth in a thin line and nodded.

"Well, ma'am, then in such a case I think it's about time me an' my partner here saw the sheriff. Thank you for your hospitality." The boys jumped down from the stools and Grace nodded.

"Well, boys, the jail's just down the street that ways." She pointed. "He'll be in with the mayor now, but y'all just head on in there, they'll see you."

Sam nodded to her and touched the brim of his ten-gallon hat once more. "Thank you ma'am. I'm sure we'll see you around." He and Jake clanked out of the saloon and back onto the dusty street.

"He's gonna _steal Hogswatch_!" Jake hissed as they made their way down the street. "Did you hear her?"

"Yup. S'all rumor though." His eyes narrowed. "I think we see the sheriff and the mayor, and we make our minds up from there." They drew up to the front of the town's jail, dusty and faded from the beating sun. The windows were so dingy as to be totally opaque, but Sam thought he could perhaps make out the faint silhouettes of two figures inside. Carefully, he pushed open the door, right hand hovering near his Red Bandit dual-action suction-cup crossbow, just in case. Inside there were indeed two men, one seated behind a desk, head in his hands, the other sitting in a chair in front of him, slouched down, legs splayed out in front of him. The man behind the desk breathed out slowly. "Afternoon," Sam said.

"The Black Bandits," the man behind the desk said, as Sam and Jake made their way into the jail's tiny front office. "Well, I'll be damned. What brings you boys into town?"

"We heard there's been some trouble," Jake sniffed. "Or there's gonna be, at any rate. Came by to see if we could lend a hand."

The two men exchanged a glance before they seemed to reach an unspoken agreement, rising and making their way over to the boys. The man who had been at the desk, clad in brown from head to toe and rumpled-looking, clapped Sam on the shoulder and nodded. "We wouldn't say no to help right now," he said. "You must be Sam and Jake."

"Yessir," Sam answered with a nod.

"I'm Sheriff Vimes, and I'm in charge of this town, as far as the law goes. It ain't perfect but it works, and that's all that matters in country like this." He gestured to the other man, tall and thin and wearing a dusty black suit and hat. "This here's Vetinari, he's the bartender at the saloon down a ways, but he's the mayor too. Small town, you know how it is. Nothing goes on in this town that he don't know about."

Vetinari flashed the two boys a quick smile, hands in his pockets. "Much obliged for your offer, boys."

"We do what we can." Sam squared his shoulders and turned to the sheriff. "Rumor down at the saloon is that there's a bandit out there fixin' to make some trouble 'round Hogswatch time. Steal everybody's presents and try an' stop the Hogfather from doing his duty, like." He shook his head. "I can't abide by that."

The sheriff nodded. "That'll be Randy Downey. Fiercest outlaw in these parts, most're scared to even speak his name. We heard the same rumor – it's makin' the run through the town, lately."

"Any confirmation?" Jake asked, pulling a toothpick from his vest and chewing it thoughtfully. "Where does this Randy character operate out of?"

"Our man on the inside hasn't said much on the whole debacle," Vetinari volunteered. "Reckon he's too scared of what'll happen to him if he does choose to open his trap. 'Course, you boys could drop by, see if you can get anything out of him."

"Could do that, we could." Sam nodded. "Who's this informant?"

"Moist, the horse thief." Vetinari nodded Hubwards. "Got a cabin on the outskirts of town, keeps to himself around this town for the most part. Doesn't say a lot for _other_ towns, mind you. Keeps him in with the shadier contingent out around here. He's in close with Randy, or he was."

"You keep horse thieves as informants in this town?" Sam scowled. "What kind of town you runnin' here, mayor?"

"Like I said," the sheriff cut in, "it ain't perfect but it's what works." He was scowling at the mayor too, though. "Wouldn't be my first choice how to do things, but I ain't in charge around here, and _if_ it helps keep our town safe, well, I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing." He shook his head and patted Sam on the shoulder once more. "You boys showed up just in the nick of time, with Hogswatch tomorrow an' all. If there's anything we can do to help you stop these nefarious goings-on y'all just shout, hear?"

"Yessir, will do." Sam and Jake turned and strode out of the office and back into the street Sam shaking his head the whole way. "Can't imagine havin' a town like this, horse thieves actin' as government informants an' all the like. I can see what the General meant about this place." He patted his trusty crossbow and nodded to his friend. "Still, we'll do what we can."

"Yup." The two had returned to the saloon and unhitched their ponies, clambering back up and riding out of town to where the horse thief lived. It wasn't far from the town center, and soon enough the little cabin shimmered out of the desert. Sam and Jake trotted up to it, woahing back and tying the ponies out by the water trough. They picked their way over to the front door, weaving through the cacti and mounting the porch. Jake had scarce raised his fist to knock when the door swung open and the thief caught sight of them, blinking in surprise. The boys likewise blinked, although moreso because the light off of his gold suit was near blinding.

"Hello," Moist said cautiously. "The, uh, the Black Bandits I assume?" He smiled and eased out of the cabin, closing the door behind him. "And what brings you two out to this end of town?"

"We heard there's some trouble a-coming." Sam sniffed and looked out over the desert. "And we heard you're the man to talk to about that kinda thing."

"Oh, I wouldn't know about any trouble," the thief replied. "I'm a changed man now, keeping myself outta trouble. Too dangerous out there for that kinda thing."

"Mayor said you know Randy."

". . . I heard of him, yeah." He waved his hands. "Listen, you want help with whatever Randy's planning for tomorrow, I can't help you with that. Don't look good when a man blows his cover, y'hear?" He tugged at the lapels of his jacket and stood up straight. "Mayor needs a man like me, anyhow."

"So Randy _is_ planning something for tomorrow then?" Jake popped a stick of gum into his mouth, other hand casually resting on the stock of his crossbow. "You can go on and tell us, we don't want no trouble with you."

"Like I _said_, I can't help you. Randy's playing this one close to the vest. Prob'ly working to impress his old man, knock over the town." He shook his head. "You boys want some advice? Run on outta here while you still can. Randy's a nasty piece of work and he's got his cronies ridin' with him lately. No one would think less of your two if you rode on up outta here tonight. Old Sam and Vetinari'll do what they can, and the townsfolk ain't gonna go down without a fight." He breathed out through his nose, hands on his hips. "Might be the end of Hogswatch this year, but it won't be the end of the town, boys. I'd suggest you all just run along, 'fore Randy takes it into his head to do you harm."

Sam shook his head. "No, no we're not in the runnin' away business, mister, thanks all the same. We're under orders from the General to clean this country up an' stop the bandits' reign of terror, and that's what we're gonna do, and that means that we've gotta save Hogswatch for this town."

Jake nodded. "Darn straight."

The horse thief looked them over and then shrugged, a small smile creeping onto his face. "Well, boys, you talk a mighty good game. I wish you luck. What I can tell you is this: in the past, Randy's strategy has been to run on into the town and just shoot everyone until about the time someone's willin' to give him whatsoever he finds himself looking for. I'd prepare for such a rustling, were I in your shoes, boys."

Sam nodded. "An' one more thing, before we head on our way. Do you know of anyone else that might be able to lend us a knowledge of the facts? As it were?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, you asked Vetinari already, didn't you?" Jake and Sam exchanged a look. "He knows more than he lets on. Maybe try Rosie Palm too – her girls see their fair share of Randy's kind." He spat and looked over the two boys. "Is that all?"

"I do believe so." Jake popped a gum bubble.

"Good. Now git." He shooed the two. "I helped you boys all you asked. A man should be able to live on his own land unmolested by outriders." He caught sight of Sam's raised eyebrow and frowned. "You heard me, or did I mumble?"

"No, I heard you, I'm just a mite curious what the hurry is."

"There ain't any hurry! I'm just done with this inquisition, is all! Woah." The horse thief held up his hands as he was suddenly staring down the point of Jake's suction cup crossbow.

Sam smiled serenely and gestured to the door behind the man. "Why don't y'all just let us in there, hm? Have a look around, nothin' more. No harm done."

"You ain't got a warrant!"

"No, but my friend there does have a crossbow." Sam coughed. "Come on, then, let's not make this any harder than it has to be, hm?" Moist gave the boy a long look before nodding, inhaling deeply through his nose, slowly easing a hand down to the door handle. He paused, hand on the latch, and Sam nodded. The door was flung wide. "Keep your bow on him, Jake!" Sam yelled, charging into the little cabin, spotting a dark figure scrambling across the bed in the gloom. His hand flew to his belt and he pulled out his knife, brandishing it at the huddled form on the bed. "Hold still, now!"

The figure froze, one leg drawn up across his chest. He was panting. Sam blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dark interior of the cabin and, gradually, the face of the man on the bed became clear. Sam blinked and lowered his knife a fraction. "Stanley Howler? I thought we locked you up in Fort Smith!"

"Uh, well, obviously I escaped," the young man said. He held up his hands. "And I'm unarmed. Please put the knife down, sir."

"What brings you out here?"

"I don't know a thing about whatever Randy's plannin', if that's what you're after," Stanley said defensively. "I just used to work with Moist, figured I'd stop off here before I kept riding. Wrong place, wrong time."

"An' how'm I to know you're not lyin'?"

"Listen, if I knew anything about Randy I'd tell you!" He shook his head. "I got no business with him – you know me, Sam, I ain't more'n a pickpocket an' a swindler. Niche market, as it were. All that business with shootin' and ridin' through town . . . that ain't my business. You know that!"

Sam looked down his nose at the man. "I'd still feel better if you were down in the jail." He sniffed. "Where you belong anyway, bein' escaped an' all."

"Please –" He was cut short by Sam shoving a rag into his mouth. "Mmmf!"

"You'll be safer down in town. Out of the way if anything does happen." Stanley struggled and kicked out at Sam, earning him a rough tug on the rope being fastened around his wrists. He yelped through the rag. "Listen, Stanley, if you're lookin' for trouble, I'll be happy to oblige you!"

"He wasn't looking for trouble!" Out on the porch, Moist was kneeling down, back to Jake, hands behind his head. "He was out here with me, out of the way!"

"In the company of another convicted thief. Or would-be convicted thief, if justice were done right out here." Sam tugged the man off the bed by his wrists and pushed him toward the door, bight of the rope clenched tightly in his hands. "Tie him up, too, Jake, we're taking these two downtown where they can't meddle."

"But I told you everything I mnummrrff." He glared at Jake, chewing on the handkerchief in his mouth.

Jake shrugged. "Sorry Dad."

"Huh?" Sam blinked. Jake did too, and shook his head. Around them, the world wavered, just for a minute.

"I mean, shut up. Outlaw. Yeah." He nudged the horse thief to his feet and the boys led the prisoners to the ponies, tying their wrists to the saddle horns with a length of rope. They went quietly back into town, Moist and Stanley trailing along in the dust behind the ponies, the boys barely exchanging a word as they rode. When they eventually pulled up outside the jail, the Sheriff stepped outside, hands on his hips.

"The hell is going on here?"

"These two men are to be booked and placed under arrest by my authority as a warden of the law as stated by General Carrot."

"Moist's an informant to the mayor!" He peered at Stanley. "And who's that skinny bloke?"

"This man –" Sam pointed to Moist – "takes up with thieves, outlaws and criminals. As a precaution, I am locking him up for the night. And this man is an escaped convict from Fort Smith. I intend to take him back there as soon as we have finished our sorry business here."

Moist spat out his rag. "The mayor won't stand for this!"

"I might be of a mind to," said a voice from the shadows. The mayor stepped into the street, hands in his pockets, and smirked to Moist. "Lock him up, boys, we're better off with him there tonight; you're right."

"But sir!"

The mayor raised an eyebrow. "I'm fairly certain I did not stutter." Moist stared at the man in black, slack-jawed, as Jake and the Sheriff took the two prisoners into the jail for lockup. Sam and Vetinari stood in the street for a minute, staring each other down, before Vetinari shrugged. "I'd imagine you're wanting to have a word with me."

"If it's not any trouble." Vetinari watched the boy for a minute before turning and walking away, back toward the saloon. When Sam didn't move after him he looked back over his shoulder and gestured for him to follow. The boy trotted down the street and caught up to the man, hurrying alongside to keep up with him. "What do you know about Randy and his posse? Moist seemed to think you knew something."

"I know _of_ them, sure." He pushed through the doors and made his way into the saloon, meandering over to the bar and slipping behind it. Sam seated himself at a stool in an abandoned corner. Vetinari put a cold glass of buttermilk in front of him. "Met them once or twice, never for long. Couldn't tell you what he's planning for tonight. Seems to be tight-lipped on this particular enterprise. His father must have had a word with him."

"That's what Moist said." Sam sipped the drink.

"I know." The man took his hat off and set it on the bar, running a hand through his ruffled gray hair, failing to smooth it down even the least bit, and leaning on the bar. "What Moist _didn't_ tell you is that Randy and his sorry crew are camping out Hubwards, waiting for the sun to start setting. They'll be hoping to run through the town and steal all the presents before the Hogfather comes, at which point I would assume they have some sort of half-baked plan to take him hostage or some such." He sniffed. "Of course, I don't know anything, really."

Sam blinked. "But you know everything!"

"I don't _know_ it, as such. Just sort of assumed it, based on their past activities."

"Well, we should ambush them then!" He pushed his stool back from the bar. "Me an' Jake an' the Sheriff and . . . and you too, sir, if you've a mind to come. Catch 'em out at their camp, bring 'em all in, easy as you please."

The mayor snorted, shaking his head. "Randy's brash, but he ain't stupid. He'll have his men spread out around a ridge, I'd imagine, so they have the benefit of the high ground as well as surprise. They'll be well-hidden, too. His father's probably taught him damn' near everything he knows, which means you're not likely to be able to just ride out there and catch them out." He drummed his fingers on the bar once. "No, ambush out in his country isn't the answer. Ambush in the _town_ though . . ."

Sam slapped the bar. "I get it!" He jumped down and saluted the man. "I'll be happy to do my part rallying the townsfolk, sir."

"Yeah, good luck with that."

"Havelock?" Across the bar and the card players, Grace was standing still, mouth set in a hard line, one hand on her hip, the other pointing to a large pine tree in the corner. "Why is there a . . . a pine tree . . . in the bar?"

"I like it!" One of the card-playing patrons staggered to his feet, waving a hand vaguely toward the tree.

Vetinari pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ye gods, Brian."

"We're gonna . . . We're gonna . . . We're gonna decorate it." Brian stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself on a poker table. "For Brutha." He gathered himself, straightening his vest. "And then I'm gonna hang my socks above the fireplace."

"We don't have a fireplace, Brian," Vetinari sighed.

"And then I'm gonna hang some leaves from the ceiling and see if I can get some action!"

"In the time-honored Hogswatch tradition, of course." Vetinari and Grace exchanged a look before Vetinari turned to Sam. "You talk to Rosie, at the very least; I'll see what I can do about this mess." He nodded toward the collective patrons of the bar. Sam saluted again and turned for the door, making his way out into the desert heat. The sun was hanging lower in the sky, the long shadows stretching out across the dirt and dust of the town. Sam paused for a moment, mopping his face with his handkerchief, and wondered how he would go about finding this 'Rosie'.

"Hey!" Jake jogged up next to Sam, breathless and streaked with trail dust. "Got those two booked, we'll have 'em locked up for the night for their own safety as much as everyone else. You find anything out?"

"Vetinari knows the whole plan."

Jake snapped his gum. "_Of_ course. Mayor's as crooked as everyone else around here."

"He's not bad." Sam squinted. "You got more gum?" He popped the proffered piece into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully for a minute. "Randy's camped outside of town, waiting for sunset. Vetinari thinks they'll be spread out and have the high ground, so it's too dangerous even to ride out and check. So the plan is we ambush them when they ride into town."

"What if he's with them?"

"I doubt it." Sam poked a thumb toward the saloon. "He's gonna talk to the guys in the saloon, but we've gotta spread the word to the rest of the town. The fastest way seems to be through this woman named Rosie. Dunno where we can find her, though."

"Up here boys." Sam and Jake whirled around, blinking up into the sun. "Come on up, the door's open." A rickety staircase was attached to the side of the saloon. Sam and Jake cautiously made their way up it, hands on their crossbows, only to be met at the top by a blonde young woman, perched on the railing, sleeves of her dress slipping dangerously low on her shoulders, and her dress slipping dangerously low in . . . other places.

"We're, uh, we're here to see Rosie," Sam mumbled, blushing from the roots of his blonde hair to, it felt, the very tips of his toes. "She said to come in."

"Well, then, by all means, boys." She gestured to the door broadly, smiling. "Don't let little old me keep you here."

Sam tipped his hat and seized his companion by his vest, dragging him through the door. The girl giggled as Jake waved vaguely before they disappeared through the doorframe and the door snapped shut smartly behind them. Inside, girls in various states of undress lounged around. The girl nearest the door, who was wearing nothing but a camisole and tights and was meticulously applying lipstick in a hand mirror, smiled at the boys and pointed to the glass double doors on the opposite side of the room. "Rosie's out on the porch, boys. In your own time, of course."

Sam, still blushing furiously, hurried off before sighing in exasperation, striding back and grabbing Jake's vest once more, dragging the other boy behind him. Once through the sitting room and out onto the safety of the porch, Sam relaxed a little. The woman seated at the railing of the porch was a well-dressed middle-aged lady, her hat and veil providing some protection from the late afternoon sun. "So Havelock sent you boys after me, did he?" She gestured to two chairs. "The Black Bandits, I see. Word's all over town, you understand, and not a moment too soon, with all the rumors about the outlaws riding in tonight."

"Yes'm." Sam sat and pulled his hat off, placing it across his knees. "To all of the above. We were, uh, we were hoping you'd be able to lend us a hand."

She blinked, slowly, a smile curving at the edge of her mouth. "With what? Fighting Randy? Boys, I can't say my girls are very inclined to such a course of action, at least not without significant financial compensation."

"Huh?" Jake was still surreptitiously glancing into the room full of girls. Rosie smiled broader and chuckled a little.

"We, uh, we do not really have the means to pay for your services, ma'am." Sam coughed delicately. "And to inquire about your willingness to join in the conflict tonight was not my intention, although whether or not your do ultimately take part out of good samaritanism is hardly my business . . ."

"I won't." She reached into her bodice and pulled out a silver cigarette case. A slim cigarette was produced, lit and smoked, while the case was stored back into the depths of her dress. "Neither will my girls. They're much more valuable than some holiday, if you forgive me saying." She took a drag and blew a smoke ring. "If it's information you're after, young man, I can't say I have much to tell you other than what I'm sure Havelock already told you."

"Yes, I kinda figured on that, miss." Sam shifted. "But we were wondering if maybe you'd be so inclined to help us spread the word of our plan to the other residents of the town, we could perhaps get a little help in our endeavor. We're planning to ambush Randy and his kind when they ride into town in a few hours."

Rosie nodded. "Havelock's plan, yes? He does love a surprise, providing it's not him being the one surprised." She took another drag on her cigarette and shrugged. "Well, it's a noble cause, boys, I'll give you that. Tell you what: I'll help you, I'll get some of the rustlers and thieves behind you – most of them don't like Randy any more than anyone else. Townsfolk too, if they're in the mood for it." She ground out her cigarette in a porcelain ashtray and patted Sam on his knee. "You boys go downstairs, have Grace fix you up something for supper, head over to the Sheriff's office. I'm sure Vimes'll have some kind of plot in his head, and Havelock too, if I'm any judge. Get some food in your belly and get set up, Grace and I'll take care of the rest."

"Really?" Sam nodded and stood, pulling his hat back on. "Thanks a lot, ma'am."

"Trust me, you boys'll need the help." She ushered them back through the sitting room and to the door. "Randy is mean as a snake and twice as slippery. Sundown's in an hour – I'll send the girls out, see what we can do." Outside, the girl on the railing blew Jake a kiss and winked. "Good luck."

The boys elected to forgo dinner, instead heading straight for the jail, where they found the sheriff and the mayor debating the best possible means of attack. "Well, we could run them down the street and out the opposite side and then head them off at the pass . . ." Vimes gestured to a map while Vetinari made an exasperated noise.

"I _hate_ that cliché. 'Head them off at the pass,' honestly." He gave the sheriff a severe look. "I expect better from you, Vimes."

"What? It was an idea!" The two turned when the screen door snapped shut. "Ah, boys."

"There will be no running this crew out of town," Sam said firmly, blowing a gum bubble. "I want them caught, alive for preference. They should go up in front of a judge."

"I'm the judge," Vetinari pointed out.

"Well, in a court, anyhow." Sam climbed up on a chair next to the mayor and leaned over the map, which detailed the town and surrounding geography. He pointed out the window. "Now, I'm thinking we face them in the street. Puts them at a disadvantage if we're under cover before they get here. So if we've got a couple people up high, on porches and roofs, and a few people down in the street . . ."

Before he knew it, Sam was crouched behind an overturned wagon outside Doctor Lawn's barbershop, Jake next to him. Suction-cup arrows were piled in front of them, ready for reloading, and their crossbows were loaded, lying in the dirt next to them. "You think this'll work?" Jake asked, glancing around. The sheriff and mayor were on the roof of the jail, and all down the street, supposedly, were townsfolk awaiting the arrival of the outlaws. The street itself, however, appeared to be completely deserted. "Seems like we're all alone, is all."

"Shush." Sam pointed toward the horizon, where the last orange light of day was fading. A tremendous cloud of dust was rolling toward the town and, as it drew closer, horses thundered along amidst the cloud. Sam cocked his crossbow and propped it on the wagon. The gang was trotting down the main street in short order. At their head, a black horse trotted along, chomping at the bit, white lather smeared down its neck, scored into lines by the reins. The horse was pulled to a halt, mouth gaping, sides heaving, prancing nervously. Sam's eyes narrowed.

Slowly, the black horse's rider applauded, laughing. "Very good!" His voice cracked awkwardly, and he hurriedly cleared his throat. "Very good." The rider pushed his hat back and for the first time, Sam saw Randy Downey. Ginger, freckled and spotty, his dust-streaked, sunburned face twisted into a wide smile. "Did your mayor put you all up to this? Come on, old man, my father has a score to settle with you, and I intend to take care of his business for him tonight." When no answer was forthcoming, he shrugged. "Nothing? Fine by me." He gestured to the riders clustered behind him. Fifteen at least, maybe twenty-five riders – they were milling around too much for Sam to count – and a wagon hitched to two panting horses. "Ride through the town. You see a Hogswatch present, I want you to take it and throw it in the wagon. Anyone fights you, show 'em who's boss in this town." His eyes narrowed. "And get ready for the fat man."

"Right, boss." The first rider trotted forward, making for the barbershop, and Sam fired. The bolt hit him square in the chest, and the rider toppled backwards off his horse, which took the opportunity to nudge his fallen rider before trotting off toward the nearest trough. On the ground, the outlaw was stone dead, suction cup stuck firmly to his leather vest, black 'x's scored across his eyelids. Randy snarled.

"It's an ambush! Get 'em, boys!" With a shout, Randy and his gang charged down the street, some leaping from their horses, coming under fire from all sides. Townsfolk plunged from windows and outlaws toppled from their horses as crossbow bolts flew. Several knife fights broke out in the street while Sam and Jake fired as best they could from behind their wagon. Randy and his horse were tearing up and down the street, Randy firing into windows, through half-opened doors, nearly always hitting his mark.

"Sam!" Jake was scrabbling in the dirt. "Sam, we're out of ammo!" He gestured frantically to the roof of the jail, waving his empty crossbow. Most of the outlaws had taken up shelter across the street, crouched behind a water trough. "We need more!"

"We can't get more!" Sam fired off a shot and clipped the trough, but missed the outlaw that had been leaning out from behind it. "Someone would have to run down the middle of the street – it would be suicide."

"Well we can't just run out there and fight man-to-man – there's still too many of them!"

From a window down the street, a bolt flew and stuck fast to the belt-buckle of an outlaw, who flailed into the trough before jerking into stillness. "We're gonna have to wait for the others to take down the rest of 'em," Sam ground out, peeking around the side of the wagon. "Hang on!" Another cloud of dust was flying toward the street, at its head a dark bay horse, its long white blaze a bright point against the dark purple of the twilight sky. Hanging off the side of the horse was the sheriff, using the animal's body as a shield against the crossbow-fire. Mounted was the mayor, bent low to the mare's neck, trying to avoid the crossfire. In front of the wagon, Vimes leapt and rolled, scrambling behind the wagon with the boys. Vetinari tore off down the street, his horse kicking up enough dust to provide a little cover for the sheriff as he took refuge. Vimes, leaning back against the wagon and panting, tossed a rucksack to the boys. Arrows cascaded out into the dust.

"Need a reload?" he chuckled, coughing. "Let's get 'em, boys."

From behind the wagon, it was hard to get off anything more than potshots, as the bandits themselves had taken refuge. Between the sheriff and the boys, however, their numbers had been whittled down enough that Sam, Jake and the sheriff broke from behind the wagon and fell upon the trough across the street, flushing the bandits out into the open. Jake caught one in the shoulder, and he fell to the ground, rolling over and playing dead. The sheriff caught another one in the stomach and the bandit fell to the ground, pulling the crossbow bolt's suction cup free with a pop. He looked to the sheriff, despairing, before falling to his knees and slumping to his side, eyes closed, black crosses fading into existence across his eyelids. Jake and the sheriff cheered and turned to Sam, but froze when they saw the other boy.

In the dark of the street, Sam and Randy were standing no more than twenty paces apart, locked in a standoff, crossbows pointing directly at one another. Both were streaked with dirt, Sam's black chaps dirty and scratched, Randy's checked shirt torn. Around the two shooters, the town held its breath, watching with rapt attention. Randy smiled and chuckled. "Well well, if it isn't Sam, the Black Bandit." He twitched his crossbow a little, but it never wavered too far from its target. "Were you behind all this?"

"Mostly, yeah," Sam panted. "Surrender now, Randy, and we won't have to do this the hard way."

Randy laughed. "Right! There ain't another way for this to be done, Sam."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Surrender, Randy," he repeated. "We'll take you to court, your father'll set you up with a good lawyer. You have a chance."

"Ha! I don't need a good lawyer, I need a good judge." His eyes narrowed. "Speaking of, where's the mayor got to? I saw him fly through here a while ago, could have sworn I hit him."

"Put the crossbow down, Randy."

Randy cocked his head. "No, I don't really think I will, Sam." He paused for thought.

"End it, Randy, you got no hope," the sheriff volunteered gruffly.

"No! No, see that's where you're wrong," Randy waved a finger at Vimes. "I do have hope. What we have here is a Hershebian standoff, and I've always got hope in one of them." He grinned broadly. "Tell you what, let's make a deal. Everyone likes deals, don't they?"

"Randy, you are literally hopelessly outnumbered," Jake yelled, exasperated. "There's one of you, and a whole town of us! You cannot possibly win!"

"No one can get to me before I pull this trigger," Randy said, matter-of-factly. "No, no, this is between me and Sam, here." He raised an eyebrow. "So, Sam, what's it gonna be? One of us is gonna fire first. Is it gonna be you? Or me?" There was a quiet _click_, resoundingly clear in the tense silence, as Randy cocked his crossbow.

The two stood stock still, facing one another, bystanders watching with bated breath, when suddenly a roar cut through the air overhead, and a jolly laugh resounded through the night sky. The snorts and grunts of nine hogs echoed off the clapboard faces of the buildings. Sam and Randy both looked up, and then snapped their attention back to one another, as the Hogfather's sleigh drifted to the ground outside the city. Startled, Randy pulled the trigger, and Sam did likewise. Jake lunged forward with a cry, but Vimes caught him across the chest, pulling him out of the line of fire as the two arrows soared toward their targets. The townsfolk could only watch as Randy's arrow flew toward Sam, straight for his chest – he wouldn't, _couldn't_, get out of the way fast enough, surely, even as he dove to his left. But then he flung his right arm into the air and twisted and, miraculously, the arrow clipped his vest, scarring the leather, but flying clear of his body. Sam's arrow, on the other hand, found its target, despite Randy's dive for safety. He dove square into its line and the suction cup made contact with the teenager's neck, sticking square. Randy's eyes flew wide with shock before they rolled back into his head and he slumped to the ground, eyes closed.

The shocked silence lasted a second that seemed to stretch for an eternity, and then the crowd erupted with cheers and cries of 'Hogswatch is saved!' The sheriff and Jake hoisted Sam to his feet, out of the dirt, and slapped him on the back, laughing and congratulating him on his aim and, yes, his tremendous good luck. The mayor fought his way through the crowd, limping a little, and shook Sam and Jake's hands.

"So he did hit you," the sheriff said.

"It'll heal," the man replied with a shrug. "Boys, against all odds you managed to save the town from, debatably, the most pernicious and tenacious band of outlaws been seen around this country for years." Grace eased up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'd like to reward you both for your bravery and your willingness to help our sheriff bring such noxious criminals to justice."

"That's kind of you, sir," Sam said, wincing and putting a hand over the scrape along his side. "But we cannot possibly accept; we're just doing our duty."

"Nonsense, the General would fully support me, I'm sure." He waved a hand. "Now, I'm sure you have places to be so –"

"Ho ho ho!" The booming laugh knocked Jake's hat from his head and the two boys wheeled to face the source. There, resplendent in red and white, stood the Hogfather, hands on his hips, smiling broadly through the beard, tusks glinting in the torchlight. "Well done, boys! You've saved Hogswatch, and you've saved me from a terrible fate at the hands of outlaws in this wild country."

"It was nothing, sir." Sam quickly snatched his hat from his head, kneading the brim nervously. "Just doing our duty."

The Hogfather chuckled and put a hand on each boy's shoulder. "As I believe the mayor just said, 'nonsense'. What you did was brave and good beyond the simple call of your duty." He winked. "I imagine I could find something quite special for each of you in my sleigh." He nodded once. "For the whole town, even!" A raucous cheer went up with this declaration. The Hogfather raised his finger to his lips. "But you all know the rules, I'm sure – for me to do my work, you must sleep!"

"Quick, everyone, to bed!" Rosie shouted, smiling in a way that was probably illegal in at least five countries. The townsfolk scattered, and the Hogfather watched them go, laughing the whole time.

-()-

The next morning, Sam sprung awake, hair mussed. He scrambled to the foot of his bed and hoisted the curtain aside, blinking in the blinding early-morning light glinting off the unspoiled snowfall in the back garden. Smiling uncontrollably, he jumped from his bed, still tangled in the blankets, and ran down the hall, shedding bedding as he went. He flung the door to his parents' room wide and took a flying leap onto the bed, landing firmly on his father's stomach. So awakened, his father wheezed and had a furious coughing fit.

"It's Hogswatch!" Sam whispered, or tried to. "Get up, get up, get up!"

"What time is it, Sam?" his mother mumbled.

"I dunno!" Sam the younger hissed while his father grunted "Five thirty."

"It's too early, Sam, go back to bed."

"But _mum_!" He punched his dad in the shoulder. "Come on, dad, can't we do stockings at least!" He paused for a minute. "Hey, I think you were in my dream last night, dad."

"Hm?"

"Yeah!" He jumped down and prodded his father again. "I was a bandit out in the wild Widdershins, defending the town from the lawless evil of Randy Downey with my trusty sidekick Jake. And, and Jake and I rode all around the town, and you were the sheriff, and Uncle Sir was the mayor, and Jake's dad was this horse thief that worked for you guys and, and we saved Christmas and the Hogfather gave us all extra special presents cause we were all so brave!" He shook his father. "There was a big shootout and you were hanging off the side of a horse and . . . and Uncle Sir got shot but he was okay . . ."

"Mm, you sure it was Hogswatch and not our wedding?" Vimes Sr. grumbled. His wife hit him on the shoulder.

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

"Oh. Anyway, and then Randy and I had a Hershebian standoff and the Hogfather distracted him and we both shot at each other but I dodged and we all _saved the day_, Dad!" His father, face still pressed into the pillow, ruffled his hair. "So can we do stockings now, Dad, please? What if the dream was true?"

"Sam, it's awfully early. Ow." His wife had prodded him in the ribs and, grudgingly, he rolled onto his back and looked to his son. "Alright. We'll go make some toast and then do stockings."

"Yes! Can I peek at the presents, Dad, can I? Can I?"

"_No_, Sam, not until at least your Uncle gets here." He got out of bed and took his son by the hand.

"Do you think I could be a bandit, Dad? Like, a good one? Out in the wild Widdershins?"

"I'm sure if you want to be."

"And I could save Hogswatch and the Hogfather from Randy and get all kinds of awards for bravery and everything?"

His father chuckled as they made their way down the stairs. "Sam, if that's what you want to do with your life, you go ahead." He stopped when his son threw his arms around his waist.

"I'm gonna do it, Dad. I'm gonna be just like you, but out in the Widdershins. And catch bad guys and defeat evil and everything." He looked up, smiling broadly. "So can I peek at my presents yet?"

His father, who was smiling sleepily, chuckled. "_No_. Now, remind me, do you like grape or strawberry jam?"

"_Blech_, grape." Sam made a face and ran down the rest of the stairs.

"That's what I thou – Hey! Kitchen is to the left, young man!"

"_Woah, I got a firetruck!_"

-()-

Reviews are the cheapest Christmas presents you could give. Happy holidays, amigos.


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